


This Entire Planet

by 30MinuteLoop



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Afro-Futurism, Alpha Centauri - Freeform, Awkwardness, Canon Compliant, Deneva (Star Trek), Flirting, For Science!, Kissing, M/M, Penthara IV, Thalus Prime, references to TNG and DS9 and ENT, through season 1 and the Star Trek Discovery Annual anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 20:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14316687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/30MinuteLoop/pseuds/30MinuteLoop
Summary: Based on the canon introduced in the Star Trek Discovery Annual (2018). Hugh and Paul meet on Alpha Centauri and start video calling each other after they go back to their respective homes. Of course, they need to meet in person eventually.





	1. professional inquiries

Paul’s heart races the moment he wakes up, having dozed off on the shuttle back to Deneva. It takes him a few moments to realize why.

It takes a lot to throw Paul off these days. He’s forty, he’s deeply (deeply) invested in his work, he’s finally feeling like he knows what he’s doing in life. Nine years of working with Justin Straal have catapulted his research in a way he couldn’t have imagined as a post-doc at UC-Berkeley 15 years ago. Back then, he was struggling to get anyone to be interested in the practical application of mycelium in space travel.

Now he and Straal are working in a terraforming lab on Deneva. Even though the subject matter is not his absolute favorite, he continues to appreciate working with Straal. Straal has at least as wild a scientific imagination as his own, and that kind of energy in research is doing wonders. Not to mention the benefits of being part of the Federation’s interstellar university system.

Unfortunately, when Paul and Justin presented their research at the annual Federation Research Council conference on Alpha Centauri, the reception was lukewarm at best. People didn’t seem interested in actually doing science; they just wanted to pick things apart. They spent three hours after their talk in deep discussions with an assortment of scientists. Although a few people were supportive, it wasn’t what they had been hoping for. Apparently, people needed more before they were going to be convinced.

Straal commiserated with Paul in a nearby bar, before heading off to another talk. Federation and Starfleet scientists were everywhere but no one wanted to talk to them. The atmosphere was depressingly sterile and his drink was not helping.

Paul couldn’t wait to get back home and start putting their ideas into action. He missed their mushroom garden and the peacefulness of working among the fungi. He’d had enough of people. They’d have to come around eventually, but he didn’t need them now.

Then a certain humming jarred him out of his thoughts. And when Paul whirled around and told the guy drinking coffee a few seats away to be quiet… well. He just kept sitting there and he dished it right back.

“You have bad taste in music,” the guy in the pink shirt had told him.

He’d also told Paul that his talk was interesting. He’d also had a stunning smile.

So naturally, Paul found him very interesting.

 

Paul had asked one of the organizers of the symposium, an acquaintance of his, if they could find out any more information about this guy who’d attended his talk. _He’s human, around my height, broad shoulders, short dark hair, light brown skin, ridiculously beautiful._ Just a few hours later, his padd flashed a notification. The man was Hugh Culber - he was a doctor, attending the medical track.

What had this guy been doing at Paul’s talk, anyway? The medical track of the conference was in another building altogether…

Paul wrote back to his friend: _Okay, fine. Does he date men? Is he available?_

_Oh, I thought this was a professional inquiry. ;D That doesn't seem like a question I can ask discreetly, Paul._

Paul rolled his eyes, although he could understand his friend's reluctance. But how was he going to manage to see the doctor again? He tried to look up information about doctors named Hugh Culber. It turned out there were quite a few of them in the entire Federation, and not enough photos available to find the one he was looking for.

He sighed as he headed off to the next panel discussion. It had just been a long time since somebody caught his attention like this.

 

_“Final call for the shuttle to Deneva.”_

Paul was standing in line to head home, humming distractedly as he read over some of his notes from the day’s talks. The long line was just starting to file into the shuttle.

"Hypocrite.” A vaguely familiar voice cut into his thoughts. Paul looked up and saw a bright white uniform and a familiar face. It took him a moment to make the connection.

“You’re humming in public. Kasseelian opera no less,” the doctor teased him, the corners of his eyes wrinkling in a quite attractive way as he smiled at Paul.

“I - uh - it got stuck in my head,” Paul said, momentarily stunned. He had been humming _Kasseelian opera_. What was happening to him?

“You don’t say.”

“You’re Starfleet?” Paul’s brain was struggling to keep up as he looked at the badge on Hugh's chest. _Dammit, how can he be Starfleet?_

“Headed back to my posting. Very very far from Deneva. So it’s unlikely we’ll ever have to argue about music again,” Hugh said, tilting his head at Paul, still with this sparkling grin.

Paul really wanted to keep arguing about anything with this guy. “Unless I was so irritated that I insisted you tell me how to contact you in the future so that we could continue arguing.”

“I look forward to it.” Paul handed Hugh his padd with his contact list open and Hugh typed in his details. Paul was reading the padd upside down as Hugh typed.

“Penthara IV?” he read out loud. “I don’t think I’ve even heard of the Penthara system.”

“It’s a relatively new colony,” Hugh explained. “It’s a lot of… well, some would call it frontier medicine. Ugh. Anyway, we’re making do with what we have. But I also sometimes travel to nearby systems to support them. It’s pretty exciting work.”

The public address system clicked on. _“Paul Stamets. This is your last boarding call for Deneva.”_

“That’s me,” Paul said, taking his padd back. “I’ll be in touch.”

 

It takes a little longer than Paul had intended before he messages Hugh. That is, it takes a full 24 hours. After he catches up on his sleep, he gets caught up in an argument with Straal about working for _Starfleet_ , of all things. Why could he go years without paying attention to the military, and now they’re everywhere? They’re arguing with him and Straal during their talk, trying to recruit them afterwards, and now one of them has been flirting with him in a bar and a spaceport…

His ill-advised and unscheduled _P. stellaviatori_ ingestion experiment that very same day provides the perfect opportunity to get in touch with Hugh. After getting back to him astonishingly quickly, and assuring Paul that his scans look normal, Hugh seems more than interested in continuing to talk.

And after that they’re talking a couple times a week. The timing isn’t great (most of the time Hugh’s mornings are Paul’s late nights), but they both have somewhat flexible schedules.

"I wish we could have dinner in person," Paul says, on their fifth or sixth call, as he’s eating a sandwich at his desk while video chatting with Hugh.

"That makes two," Hugh replies with a wistful smile. "But I don't have any leave coming that's anywhere near Deneva."

"Are you sure you like serving in Starfleet?" Paul asks. "Seems awfully restrictive."

"It sounds like you work all the time. Is your job really that much better? At least when things are quiet on my posting I only work single shifts. I have hobbies. And friends."

Paul rolls his eyes. "But if I want to take a vacation, I don't have to clear it with anyone except Straal."

"And that's the only important difference?"

Oh, no. It might be.

  


A week later, Hugh leaves him a message overnight. He’s heading to Thalus Prime in ten days for a medical conference. This isn’t particularly close to Deneva (it’s a full day’s journey each way for Paul, who doesn’t get to travel by Starfleet transports), Hugh says apologetically, but it’s a lot closer than Penthara IV. And it’s the last time Hugh is traveling for a few months, probably. Any chance Paul wants to meet up? No pressure, Hugh says, but his voice is hopeful.

Paul very much wants to meet up. Every time they talk, they talk for hours. A lot of times it’s just about their days, or complaining about their coworkers, but it’s easily the most fun Paul has in any given day. And this is while he’s in the middle of what looks to be groundbreaking research on _P. stellaviatori_ , or as he sometimes affectionately calls it now, “Minty.” His research is fun too, but somehow it doesn’t quite compare...

Ten days notice isn't quite as much time as he'd like. Straal is massively unimpressed.

“You pull us down this Stella research path and _now_ you want to leave? For _four days_?”

Paul just looks at him. "Do I get in your way when you want to visit your wife?"

Straal laughs, holding up his hands. "If someone told me that you were going to want to take a vacation, to visit some guy, in the middle of our most exciting work in the past ten years, I’d have laughed so hard I drooled on them." Straal appraises his friend and colleague for a moment, his expression softening. "Oh. This is something serious."

"I don’t know yet. It could be. Just give me this. I’ll make it up to you.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @lucyisalive for the beta reading!


	2. flames

Paul gets on the third shuttle of the day on his way to Thalus Prime. He’s been traveling since 5 AM, and he’s had butterflies in his stomach since yesterday.

This is a sustained feeling he hasn’t experienced in years. Not since his last long-term relationship began, which was… 2240? He’d met Aaron twelve years ago, right at the beginning of his post-doc, and whatever they’d had had fizzled out by the end of that position, three years later.

Paul hasn’t really looked for this kind of attention in years. He’s married to his work - at least he repeats that cliché to anyone who attempts to pry. It’s much more acceptable than saying he was tired of the merry-go-round of unsatisfying dates and hookups. He’d given up on all of it about five years ago and had been mostly relieved. He wasn’t looking and he wasn’t interested. He had enough friends and he had work that he loved. Every so often, when he felt lonely or envious of some couple, he’d just try to imagine putting himself back out there. No, there were probably better things to do.

There hadn’t been anyone who didn’t take any shit from him, but also was genuinely interested in his work. Not until Hugh… but he acts like someone who might just be friendly like this with everyone. Could Paul possibly be misreading him somehow? _No, come on, who invites a friend out to a medical conference that’s a day out each way? A really friendly guy? No. Maybe?_ Willingly staying up until 4 AM just talking, like Hugh did a few nights ago, is probably a good sign. It used to be a good sign in grad school.

He tries to focus on finishing the report he’d promised to leave with Straal yesterday. He was a lot less productive than he would have liked, pacing around his apartment, trying to choose clothes to wear, wondering what would impress a Starfleet doctor, then being annoyed with himself for trying to make himself look a certain way to impress someone. But in any case, the report had had to wait.

Between short stretches of writing, he’s playing every snippet of their conversations that he can remember in his head.

_You must spend a lot of time in the gym._

_*Well, not as much time as I spend talking to you now.*_

Paul eventually gets the report done and sends it off to Straal. He reviews the schematics for the mycelial transporter. He also spends a lot of time staring out the window at the trailing stars.

By the time he arrives on Thalus Prime, it’ll be dinner time. He’s meeting Hugh at a restaurant near the transporter hub. That meeting is sitting in the pit of his stomach like his dissertation defense, except he’s looking forward to dinner a lot more. Nevertheless, it still feels like a do-or-die situation.

But at 7 PM local time, feeling like he’s melting in the late-day sun, Paul’s waiting outside the restaurant Hugh had named, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He’s taking in the unfamiliar sights and colors of downtown New Addis Ababa. Everything is loud and moving fast, compared to the sedate atmosphere of the shuttle’s designated quiet cabin.

He’s too warm in this sweater and slacks. He hadn’t checked the weather on Thalus Prime. Of course he hadn’t. But now he doesn’t want to take off the sweater. It’s the best part of the outfit.

Hugh arrives a few minutes later, dressed casually but impressively in a form-fitting white button-up shirt and blue slacks. “It’s good to see you again,” he says, the most genuine smile on his lips that Paul thinks he’s ever seen. Hugh moves in, wrapping his arms around Paul in a perfect hug.

“Likewise,” Paul says, hugging back. He’s not sure he can trust himself to say much more just yet, as the butterflies in his stomach have moved up into his mouth and it feels like he can barely speak, though he feels himself grinning so hard he knows his cheeks are going to hurt. He is not used to smiling like this.

Hugh steps back and gestures at the door. “My colleague told me this is a pretty good restaurant. Centaurian food.”

Paul tries to suppress a grimace. Centaurian food? Really? But this is the place Hugh wanted to go. And he probably chose it because of Alpha Centauri.

“What?” Hugh notices Paul’s face twitch, of course.

“Nothing,” Paul says quickly. “Let’s go in.”

“You are a terrible liar.”

Paul debates trying to deflect, but Hugh seems to have a pretty good read on him. “Centaurian food tastes like salty mush.” He examines Hugh’s expression: it’s a bit surprised, and then amused.

“Well, I guess you have bad taste in food as well as in music, but we can find something else.” He pulls out his padd and taps away for a few moments while Paul shifts back and forth nervously on his feet.

“There’s another place six blocks away - Thalus-Ethiopian, it says? What do you think? The blocks are short here; it shouldn’t be too far.”

Paul’s intrigued, so off they go down the street.

New Addis Ababa, founded over 100 years ago by an East African diaspora, is a mix of familiar 23rd-century Western Earth architecture, all metal and glass and polish, and modern African brick and wood and tile. But curved lines and smooth surfaces are part of both architectural traditions. Storefronts are open to the street, and foot traffic is everywhere. In fact, Paul hasn’t seen any shuttles or cars since he exited the transporter hub.

“Have you been here before?” Paul asks.

“No, this is my first time here. This is supposedly an amazing city for culture,” Hugh says, gazing up at a towering brown building that looks like it was carved out of a single piece of wood, with windows inset in a spiral going all the way to the top. “I believe it.”

“Are there shuttles here?” Paul watches what appears to be an electric bicycle cart carrying three people shoot by, its driver deftly maneuvering around the throngs of people.

“Maybe on the outskirts? I don’t know. I was surprised too. I’ve never been in a city this size without shuttles. There are quite a few transporter hubs though.” He pauses. “So, how was your day?” Hugh looks over at Paul as they walk. Paul notices they’re about the same height. That’s nice. They keep the same pace.

“Slow,” Paul admits. “Not very productive. I hate traveling. And waking up at 3 AM to catch a shuttle.”

“Well, thank you for making the effort on my behalf,” Hugh replies drily, with just a touch of affront.

Right, right. He could complain a bit less.

“I did finish up some work I’d left hanging yesterday, so there’s that. But this place is amazing.” Another building catches his eye - this one’s like a three-story wave of metal, glass, and wood, with some sort of garden visible on top.

“If I’d known it looked like this, I probably would’ve visited sooner,” Hugh said. “I’ve been on Penthara IV for over a year now, and it’s not hard to get here. My last vacation on Earth wasn’t very satisfying.”

“You’re from Earth, right?”

“Yeah...” Hugh says, trailing off. Paul waits for more details. Those details are not coming.

“Did you visit your family?” he asks, fishing for information with what he hopes is an innocent-sounding question.

Hugh jolts a little, as if startled out of his thoughts. “Oh. Yes, I did - that was great. My parents live in San Juan, in Puerto Rico. My mom’s an electrical engineer, and my dad is a water utility technician. My sisters came to visit too, they live on the other side of Puerto Rico.” He pauses. “I miss them. That’s pretty much the only thing I miss about Earth though.”

There has got to be a story there, but Paul decides not to pry, focusing again on their walk. The clothing styles here are something else too: bright colors and flowing lines, sharply creased shirts and pants, pointy toed shoes, elaborate headwraps. It’s nothing like the city where his lab is on Deneva, and nothing like most of the places he’s been on Earth either - although to be fair, he’s not much of a traveler.

Paul and Hugh cross another pedestrian dominated intersection, still just admiring the beauty of this town. When they are almost to the other side, Hugh lurches toward Paul suddenly. Paul reaches out to catch him as they both stumble. A bicyclist blows past them, bell ringing harshly, yelling something unintelligible, and then they’re gone into the crowd.

“ _Cabrón_ ,” Hugh mutters.

“We were probably walking around like tourists,” Paul points out. “We definitely look like tourists. Are you okay?” He realizes that he is clutching Hugh’s upper arm rather firmly. The man has serious muscles.

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks.” Hugh looks at Paul’s hand on his arm, smiles, and then looks up and points. “Hey, there’s the restaurant.”

 

The food is amazing. Paul’s had Ethiopian food before - it’s everywhere in the Bay Area, where he did his PhD - but the Thalus spin on it is dazzling. New pungent spices, sour lentils, chunks of sweet red vegetables he can’t identify. There’s even some mushrooms in one of the dishes.

Also, the wine is really good.

And the company.

Once they’ve gotten over a bit of the initial awkwardness, a few sips into the first glass of wine, the conversation is flowing easily, more like it does when they’re just video chatting at the beginning or end of their days.

Their conversations run the gamut, as they have in their video chats: medical research, the benefits of coffee, whether Paul likes any good music at all (yes), whether Hugh normally talks to strangers who are rude to him (no), stories of the kind of drama you get in academic institutions and on remote Starfleet installations, a debate about the structure of the Federation council, and a few stories of teenage mischief…

“I put a frog in my English teacher’s desk in middle school,” Paul admits. “He deserved it. He was such a pompous asshole and was always bumping people’s grades down for minor things.”

“Did the frog deserve that treatment, though?”

“No, the frog was definitely an unwilling and undeserving participant. I did get the frog back, and I set it free again. After detention, though.”

Hugh’s eyes widen. “Detention?”

“I know, my school was behind the times. I don’t know how they got away with it.” Paul shakes his head. “My friend told me their school practiced ‘inquiry-based learning’ and ‘meeting kids where they’re at’ and ‘inclusion strategies’ and I thought they were making it up. In any case, I was really good at school, even the boring stuff. I also didn’t care too much about what my teachers thought of me. That led to some good report cards, and a lot of time in detention.”

“Oof,” Hugh says sympathetically, and then, laughing, adds, “Well, at least that explains a few things about you.”

Paul raises an eyebrow at him. “Like what?”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person who has much use for authority. You like getting on people’s nerves. You’re not above making elaborate plans to get back at someone when you think you’ve been wronged.”

It’s weird to have his personality traits recited back at him. It’s also kind of hot. How does Hugh read him like this?

He shrugs, looking Hugh right in the eyes. “I’m also not above making elaborate plans to meet someone who interests me.”

Hugh blushes. He actually blushes. Wow. Or maybe it’s just that they’re on the second glass of wine. Either way, Paul is enjoying it.

“Well, I hated school, until I discovered medicine,” Hugh says. “I did okay, but I didn’t really care about it, When I was fifteen, a doctor came to visit one of my classes. I don’t remember what she said exactly.” His face is glowing as he recounts this. “She told us about working in a field hospital after an earthquake. How she could provide stability and healing for people who were suffering. The lives she saved. How it wasn’t all glamorous day to day - sometimes it was really hard - but she _could not_ do anything else. She needed to be there for others. Well, that was that for me.”

Paul has always been motivated primarily by knowledge and the thrill of discovery, but watching Hugh shine as he talks about caring for people makes him wish he were _better_ somehow.

Before long, it’s 10 PM and the restaurant is empty and closing down. Paul and Hugh compliment the waitstaff and chef on a delicious meal, and head out into the still warm night.

They pause on the sidewalk. Rock music is wafting through the air from somewhere, and groups of people dressed up for nights out are passing by.

Paul’s still clutching his duffel bag, and he’s not sure what to _say_ now, although he is sure what he _wants_ .

He’d lined up a hotel room of his own, wanting to forestall any potential catastrophic awkwardness, if somehow they didn’t really click in person. But Hugh is amazing, and things seem promising, and maybe Hugh’s going to invite him over, or he could -

"So, I'll see you in the morning?" Hugh asks. "Breakfast sound good?"

Paul's train of thought derails violently, tips over, and then bursts into flames.

He’s staring at Hugh and attempting to form words with his mouth, while also not trying to look as stunned or disappointed as he feels. And he’s also noticing a hesitance on Hugh's face that he wants to do literally _anything_ to make go away, if only he knew what it was about.

He finally settles on words. "Sure, that sounds good. Where?"

Hugh gives him the name of some place that he absentmindedly inputs into his padd along with the 7:30 AM time (conferences are brutal), while his mind is racing, wondering if he's misread the situation, if he did something wrong, if if if.

"I had a really nice time tonight," Hugh says, taking Paul's right hand in both of his hands and squeezing. "It's great to see you again." His voice is smooth and warm.

"Me too," Paul says softly, squeezing back. "Thank you for inviting me out here." The conversation seems both genuine and very stilted. Hugh is smiling but he’s not quite meeting Paul's eyes. Something is wrong, but _what_?

"I'll see you in the morning," Hugh says finally. And then he leans in, kisses Paul quickly on the cheek, squeezes his hand one more time, and walks away. In moments, he’s disappeared into the crowds.

Paul has no clue how to respond. Well, there's no way to respond now. Hugh is gone, he's standing on the sidewalk of a completely unfamiliar town after dark, and he still has to find his hotel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again to @lucyisalive for the beta read!


	3. undeniable

Paul wakes up after a not-very-restful night's sleep. It's only 6 AM. He's exhausted, since he didn’t find his dusty old hotel until after 11 (the streets and doors not being labeled in the way he’s used to). Then once he was settled in his room, he couldn’t fall asleep for a long time, wondering if he’d made an enormous mistake.

In the light of day, he knows Hugh wouldn’t have made his quick escape the way he did if he didn’t like Paul. He remembers every touch - Hugh hugging him hello, holding his hand, kissing his cheek - all too fast and too brief. Still, nothing about the past month has prepared him for Hugh being evasive, instead of disarmingly straightforward and open.

 _Did I come on too strong? No, if anything I wish I’d just kissed him..._ But still, it has been mostly him doing the pursuing - other than Hugh making the invitation for Paul to visit.

He sits up. He’s not going to get anywhere by ruminating. He did enough of that last night. He resolves to sort this out - this morning. Although asking questions normally doesn’t fill him with dread, this time he’s worried he might get an answer that he doesn’t want to hear. And he’d lose all the glorious feelings of excitement that he’s had over the past five weeks.

But if that happens, at least he could swiftly readopt the “no dating” policy and try to forget this ever happened. He could lose himself in his work again.

With those uneasy thoughts crashing around his head, Paul gets out of bed and heads for the shower, trying to act like it’s just another day on some terrible academic conference. He powers through a shower, finding clean clothes in his mess of a duffel bag (no sweaters today, it’s already warm) and packing up his shoulder bag.

It’s about a five minute walk to the place Hugh chose for breakfast, and the streets are quiet compared to last night. It’s comfortably warm and the sun is just coming up.

The destination is a fairly casual breakfast place, lit up like a beacon with interior lights that seem to mimic the sun. Some sort of drum-based dance music is playing over the speakers, not too loudly, but still far too energetically for just after 7 AM.

He's early. But it's not like he has anything else to do.

He orders an Earth coffee and an egg sandwich, feeling completely unadventurous right now and glad this place serves familiar food. He finds a table near the corner of the windows to start eating while he reads through messages on his padd.

"Paul Stamets?" A somewhat familiar voice interrupts him after a few minutes. He looks up to see Yonnas Gehrt, a xenomycologist acquaintance. His angular, narrow brown face is creased in a grin as he maneuvers between people and tables towards Paul. "What are you doing here?"

"Yonnas! I’m visiting a friend," Paul says, feeling like he's lying when he says that word, although that's all he and Hugh are right now, in practice. Awkward gay friends. "What are you doing here?"

"I’ve lived here for ages!" Yonnas says. "You didn't know that?"

"Sorry," Paul says, wracking his brain but coming up with nothing. "I guess I must have forgotten."

"I'm just kidding!" Yonnas says, bumping Paul playfully on the shoulder. "No, I just moved here a few months ago from Earth. I used to be at the Federation University in Berlin. But I needed a change of pace, and then I found out how little anyone knows about the local fungi, and I couldn't pass up the chance. Plus, this feels like home. Actually, in some ways, it’s more home than home."

It's sort of coming back to Paul now. They’ve had this discussion, at some otherwise long-forgotten conference. Yonnas' mother is German via Somalia, his father is Somalian. Yonnas studied in Mogadishu and then ended up in Berlin. Paul nods.

"This town has a decent gay scene too," Yonnas adds, "so there's nothing to miss from Earth."

"Have you founded the gay mycologists club yet?" Paul asks, chuckling.

"Not yet," Yonnas says drily. "But I’ve been enjoying the local arts and music scenes. And the university culture is excellent too. There’s something freeing about being away from Earth. Everything feels more alive. How long are you here? I could take you out and show you the sights."

"I'm leaving the day after tomorrow. And I'm not really sure what my schedule is yet, it depends on my friend. He's attending a medical conference here."

"You’ve come a long way from Deneva to visit a friend at a medical conference," Yonnas teases.

"It’s not that far." Paul maintains a completely neutral expression because he does not want to encourage this line of inquiry.

Yonnas gets the hint, thankfully. "Okay, well, good luck. And if you need someone to take you out on the town to get your mind off this dude, you get in touch. Are you going to the European conference this year?"

They talk shop for a few minutes, promising to catch up more at that European conference, if not sooner, and then Yonnas moves on.

It's amazing how small the universe can be sometimes.

It's almost 7:30 now, and there's no sign of Hugh. Paul answers a few questions from his lab technicians and eats his sandwich. He tries not to imagine the possibility that he's about to be stood up completely.

At 7:38, Hugh comes into the shop, looking well-rested and bright, wearing his Starfleet uniform. Paul lifts his hand to wave slightly at Hugh and get his attention. Hugh smiles at him and gets in line for food.

Paul can’t not watch Hugh standing in line, overhear him ordering his food, admire him in uniform. Hugh has undeniable presence. He’s joking with the staff, even. It’s ridiculous. It’s enviable.

Hugh weaves his way through the crowd, clutching a bowl and a mug, and sits across from Paul. He's got some sort of stew and rice, and a big mug of coffee.

"Good morning," he says enthusiastically. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine," Paul lies. Why is he so invested in not disappointing this guy? He slept terribly, and it’s sort of Hugh’s fault.

Hugh side-eyes him, but doesn’t say anything about it. “My hotel’s just above this place,” he says. “The front desk recommended it. Did you like your food?” He gestures at the empty plate in front of Paul as he takes his first bite.

“It was fine. The coffee’s good.” Paul knows he’s going to say something to Hugh about how last night went. He feels like he should preface the question with some less fraught discussion, and he’s not looking forward to this, but here he goes, because the words are coming out of his mouth now. “Why did you run off last night?”

Hugh says, a bit defensively, “I didn’t run off. I said good night. We made plans for this morning.”

“I thought - well, I - things were going really well. And I - I thought dinner wasn’t going to be the end of the night, and then you just left.” This is embarrassing. He sounds like an entitled kid. _Get it together, Paul._ Now he wishes he hadn’t asked.

“It was our first date,” Hugh says matter-of-factly.

That brings Paul up short. They’ve been talking for weeks. In certain ways, it felt like a fifth or sixth date, and he’d very much wanted it to be that way. But Hugh is right - they hadn’t spent more than a few minutes together up until yesterday.

“That’s true,” Paul says, trying to fill auditory space while he thinks. There is no good way to respond otherwise, without sounding defensive or overly eager to sleep with Hugh or some other thing that he doesn’t want to express right now - even if it might be true.

All traces of a smile have disappeared from Hugh’s face and he’s looking down at his bowl. Paul is startled by how much that cuts him.

“Okay, let me try again,” he says. Hugh nods and shifts in his chair, looking back up at Paul. “You’re right, it was our first date. But we’ve been talking for over a month, and it didn’t feel like a first date to me. So I’m worried you’re not interested. This is an unusual situation for me. I might be making a lot of assumptions. I mean,” and here he feels like he’s making a confession, but Hugh should probably know this, ”I haven’t been on a date in over five years. I don’t have much practice lately.”

Hugh chuckles softly. “Paul.” He’s never liked hearing his own name as much as when Hugh says it. “I invited you here because I wanted to get to know you better. And I like what I’m getting to know. But this is strange for me too, okay? I needed a minute last night.”

Paul wants to ask more questions, but again, this doesn’t feel like the time. It is so difficult to not get ahead of himself. But of course he’s going to do whatever Hugh needs him to do. No question. “Okay.”

“Does that make sense?” Hugh presses.

“Yes,” Paul says. He doesn’t totally understand, since Hugh is still not explaining what’s going on, but he does think he understands being overwhelmed and wondering, _how the fuck do I do this?_

“I’m glad.” Hugh smiles. A ray of sun is lighting up the left side of his face.

Paul relaxes. He drinks the last of his coffee. At the same time, the anxiety melts from his brain, and from his whole body. He hadn’t realized he was operating on so much adrenaline. “So, what’s on your schedule for today?” he asks, trying to breathe normally.

“First session of the day is at 0830. It’s on muscular regeneration and strategies to prevent cancer. At 1100 I’m on a panel to discuss infection prevention on starships. And there are a few more workshops in the afternoon I want to catch. It’s a fairly busy day of sitting around. I should be done around 1700.” Hugh stretches his arms over his head. “I’m already restless just thinking about it. Maybe I could meet you back here at 1730 and we can go for a walk before dinner?” Hugh says everything in military time. _Seventeen-thirty._

“Perfect,” Paul says.

He gets another cup of coffee while Hugh finishes his breakfast. Everything feels fuzzy again, even when Hugh gets up, says, “See you soon” in a way that could melt ice, and has the nerve to leave and go about his day, leaving Paul to wonder how he is going to fill the next nine and a half hours.

***

Paul stays in the cafe, gets another coffee, and catches up on all the rest of his work messages. _You’re working today?_ Straal replies to the third or fourth message, disregarding the content entirely. _I thought you were taking time off._

_Hugh’s at his conference all day._

His padd buzzes - Straal’s moved the conversation to text, off their work server. _How are things going? And don’t change the subject._

Paul rolls his eyes. Straal can be such a pain in the ass. He doesn’t really want to talk about it, but Straal will know that, and he will bug him until he relents. _Good. I think._

_You think? You THINK?_

_What exactly is your investment in this, Justin?_ He almost never uses his friend’s first name - only when Straal’s being obnoxious.

_We’ve known each other, what, ten years? After you broke up with whoever it was you were seeing when we first met, you’ve barely ever talked about anyone. Let alone traveled to another planet for them. And it’s been several years since you even did that, so you have to admit it’s reasonable that I would be curious._

_Like I said, it’s good. I think. I will let you know more if I feel like it._

He can practically see Straal rolling his eyes in response. _I hope you’re a better conversationalist with Hugh or you’re toast. I’ll talk to you later. Have a good day ;)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @lucyisalive for beta reading!
> 
> Your comments and reactions give me life! Please let me know what you thought!


	4. serious

After Paul goes through his messages twice, catches up on a couple of articles he’s been wanting to read, and sketches out an idea for reconfiguring part of their transporter, it’s still only 12:30. He’s been lurking in this cafe for a very long time by now, and with the lunch rush it’s probably time to get out of the way.

 _Vacation_ , he contemplates. _What do people do on vacation?_ Maybe he should take a break, see some sights. Hugh’s still at the conference, He could go crash the conference.

He entertains himself for a few moments imagining if he went to that conference, found Hugh, maybe after that panel he’s on by now, and just kissed him senseless right there in the hallway.

That’d be an excellent vacation activity, but he’s not going to go tracking Hugh down, especially after the morning’s conversation that was all about being patient.

He could get in touch with Yonnas, but Yonnas will probably also just ask him more questions about Hugh. No, he doesn’t want to talk to nosy people. Straal was more than enough for today.

Paul decides to wander around for a while. It’s getting hot out, and the sun is still bright, but he’s packed a ridiculous big hat that no doubt is going to make him look like the most ridiculous pale white Earth tourist in existence, but at least will keep him from burning his face off.

The sounds and sights of New Addis Ababa envelop him as he sets off down the block. There are unfamiliar languages everywhere - he turns off his universal translator just to listen. He passes more restaurants and storefronts at ground level, almost all topped by several floors of what might be apartments or offices. Most of the windows are open. Alongside these larger buildings, a few smaller house-like buildings, made from intricately sculpted clay and wood, are still standing. Historical landmarks, perhaps.

After a few blocks, he comes across some sort of outdoor market. Sleek metal and canvas booths fill the street. Some sell household goods, others clothes, and still others are filled with piles of different fruits and vegetables. The latter catch his eye. He walks down the row of booths until he finds the largest one, takes off his hat, and turns his universal translator back on.

“Do you have any mushrooms here?” he asks the shopkeeper, a young woman around his height with a round face, dark brown skin, and a yellow headwrap. She’s wearing a long white dress, embroidered down the front and on the seams in yellow and brown thread, tied at the waist with a yellow sash.

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe your translator’s not working very well. Mushrooms? Fungi?”

“I only speak Amharic and Swahili, sorry.”

He can understand her, but she can’t understand him. _Doesn’t everyone have a universal translator these days?_ After a moment, he remembers a translator program on his padd that does manual translation, which he uses sometimes for academic articles. He sets up the Amharic language and repeats his question into it. The program translates for him.

She smiles. “Yes, over here.” She moves around the back of the table to Paul’s left to gesture at some fairly standard button mushrooms. But what catches Paul’s eye are some stringy looking brown things, sort of like a rotten-looking green bean, right next to them.

“Revolting,” Paul says. “What do you call these?” His padd translates again.

“Death fingers,” she replies.

He’s never heard of this one. “Where does it grow?”

“In the mountains. About 100 kilometers away.”

“What climate do they grow in?”

“I’m not sure. I don’t harvest them - they come from another farm.” She looks at him for a moment, assessing him. “Where are you from?”

“Originally Earth. Now Deneva. I study mushrooms.”

“That explains a lot,” she says with a very slight smile.

“Is your universal translator broken?” he asks, getting a bit tired of the slowness of manual translation.

She raises her eyebrows at him. “I don’t have one. They’re not common here. We don’t see many people from other planets in this city, to be honest.”

“My friend’s also visiting from another planet,” Paul says. “That’s not common?”

“Well, maybe for some, but most of the city and this whole province are locals, or immigrants from our sister communities in Africa.” She frowns. “I’m guessing you don’t know very much about this planet.”

Paul shakes his head, then wonders if that translates. It seems to, because she continues.

“I suppose it’s for the best. We don’t exactly want more Federation people coming and settling around here.”

“But aren’t you part of the Federation?”

“My grandparents left Earth for a reason. The ideology of the Federation seeped into every country on Earth. Nobody would ever talk about how that planetary utopia was really only a utopia for the countries that started out the richest and most powerful anyway. They still got their way most of the time.” She grimaces and mutters, “You probably don’t want to hear this.”

Paul’s perplexed. He doesn’t have a great deal of opinions, pro or con, about the Federation. But he’s been asking a lot of questions and the shopkeeper looks tired. “No, I want to know more, but… you probably just want to get on with your day.”

She sighs and nods when the padd finishes translating. “I’ll give you some,” she says, gesturing toward the death fingers. “Since you’re so curious. _If_ you promise to go read about our history.”

“I will,” he says. “I have a whole afternoon free.”

She puts a few death fingers in a paper bag and hands it to him. “Make sure you cook these. They go well with okra - I hear you have that on Earth. And put some _tarsal_ on top.”

He nods. “Thank you.” Although all he’s going to do with them is take them back to his lab and study them. Then try to grow some more. He’d eat those.

He stuffs the little bag into his shoulder bag, thanks the shopkeeper again, and goes off in search of lunch and a shady place to sit and read. Now it’s 1:30. Only four more hours until he meets Hugh again.

***

At 4:03 PM, Paul’s sitting in a park under the dubious shade of some scrubby trees, having exhausted his capacity for filling time. Hugh messages him: _Want to meet up earlier? I can’t sit through another minute of whatever it is they’re talking about._

Thank goodness. The butterflies ramp up their fluttering in his gut. _Yes. Please.,_ he writes back.

_I can meet you in half an hour._

And now Paul has to hurry, because he has to go get changed and get back over to the restaurant, and try not to trip over his own feet, because tonight is going to be different, it has to be.

***

When Paul strolls up at 4:30 PM sharp, Hugh is already waiting. He’s changed out of his uniform and into a white t-shirt, long black shorts, and walking shoes. He’s leaning against the side of the building scrutinizing something on a small padd, and the sight of him makes Paul’s stomach flip.

“Hey,” Paul says quietly when he’s almost right next to Hugh. Hugh startles a bit but almost immediately recognizes Paul’s voice and presence.

“Hi,” Hugh replies, slipping the padd into his shorts pocket. That smile at close range is devastating. If he wasn’t determined not to scare Hugh off, Paul would kiss him right this second. “I’m glad we could meet up earlier.”

Paul wants to flirt more but can’t think of any witty response. “Me too. Long day?”

“You have no idea,” Hugh says, rolling his eyes. “Medicine has never been so boring. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. But maybe it’s not the conference that’s distracting me today.” He’s giving Paul a delicious little sideways smile. Paul can only smile back.

“Shall we walk?” Hugh breaks the silence after a moment.. “There’s supposed to be a park a few blocks over with a lake.”

“Sounds great.”

The usual crowds of foot and bicycle traffic surround them as they make their way down the street.

“I had an interesting experience this afternoon,” Paul says, and summarizes his talk with the shopkeeper earlier.

“So? Did you? I mean, read about this planet?”

“Yeah, one article talked about the early settlement here, that people who didn’t think that Earth was much of a utopia were able to create a new place for themselves. They thought that resources and reconstruction projects after the civil wars still benefited the wealthy Western countries at the expense of the poorer countries in the rest of the world. One thing they did get was a grant for a new Federation colony. Eventually they found Thalus Prime and settled it. But the Federation wouldn’t support their original vision for a planet for Africans. The compromise is that later the Federation sponsored another colony elsewhere on this planet with its own governor. Thalus Prime is the only planet with two separately governed colonies in the entire Federation.”

“That’s fascinating,” Hugh says. “We really didn’t learn much Federation colonial history in school, and you’d think we would have heard about this one in particular. I also didn’t know anything about Penthara IV before the moment I got there.”

 _Why would Hugh choose to go somewhere he knew nothing about?_ Paul wonders. Hugh seems like a thoughtful person. He’d do his research. So he must not have chosen his post. Why did he go? Especially after he seemed so distracted by thoughts of Earth yesterday.

“Did you ask to go to Penthara IV, or did Starfleet send you there?” Paul asks as they cross another busy pedestrian street, arriving at the park. Hugh leads the way into the park, not answering Paul.

Huge gnarled trees with red drooping leaves have been planted around the edge. Short meadow grasses fill in the open space. There’s a faint odor coming off the trees, almost like burnt toast. A few birds are singing elaborate calls.

The path into the park divides a sports and children’s play area on the right from a more densely vegetated area of red, green, and yellow plants and trees on the left. Hugh leads the way toward the left-most path into the wooded area. “If I remember right, this one goes toward the lake.”

“You didn’t answer my question?” Paul persists. His annoyance is definitely audible, more so now that they’re walking into the woods, insulated from the soccer and baseball games by shrubs and trees.

The pause stretches out longer than Paul is comfortable with. It was a simple question, right? Hugh seems lost in memories, staring ahead. “I applied for the transfer myself,” he says, finally, and so quietly Paul almost can’t hear him. “Do you really want to know all this?”

“Yes, that’s why I asked!” Paul bursts out, regretting it immediately, of course.

“Okay,” Hugh says in a warning tone. “It’s hard for me to talk about, but I guess I shouldn’t avoid it anymore.” He sighs, stuffs his hands into his shorts pockets, and walks a little slower. “It was a very bad breakup,” he says hesitantly, not looking at Paul. “A year and a half ago.” He sighs again. “We were going to get married.”

Oh. _Oh._

“We’d been together for five years. We lived together. He was a pharmaceutical chemist.” The pause stretches out uncomfortably long, but Paul just waits. “Kel was a total sweetheart, very confident, smart. We’d been engaged for a year. We were planning the wedding. I thought everything was going great.” Hugh shakes his head. “Three months before the wedding, I got an anonymous message telling me he’d slept with a mutual friend while I’d been away, at one of these conferences actually. Then, a week later, trying to process that, wondering if it was true and if I should bring it up with him, my good friend told me he’d slept with another friend too, more recently.”

Paul lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

“There wasn’t supposed to be anyone else. He’d kept all that from me for months. My _friends_ had kept that from me, as if it wasn’t my business.” Hugh’s face is a little twisted with anger and disgust. “I guess they thought they were doing me a favor, staying out of it?”

Paul realizes he’s clenched both his fists. He takes a deep breath.

Hugh continues, “We had an awful fight about it. Kel thought it should be in the past. I thought he shouldn’t have _done it_ in the first place. Even after all that, I still thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, so I spent a couple of weeks trying to make things work. But I couldn’t trust him anymore. I broke up with him and moved out.” Hugh laughs with no humor in his voice. “It turned out I couldn’t get far enough away. Everything felt tainted. I lost a few friends over it - I thought we were close enough not to keep secrets like that from each other. I asked for a transfer off Earth and they offered me Penthara IV. It wasn’t a post I’d wanted before all that, but it was my best option if I wanted to stay in Starfleet. And I did.”

This whole story is sticking in Paul’s throat. He wants to defend Hugh from this guy. Who could be capable of lying to Hugh’s face? Paul can’t even keep his _food preferences_ a secret from him.

“Anyway, are you sorry you asked yet?” Hugh still isn’t looking at him.

“No, but I _am_ sorry you had to deal with such an unbelievable asshole.” At least Paul knows he’s incapable of treating someone he loves that way. The word _love_ passing through his mind brings him up short for a minute, but he files that away for later. “I hope you know I would never treat you, or _anyone,_ that way.”

Paul sees a bench up ahead, under a shady tree, and gestures for them to sit down. When they’re seated, each turned sideways with one leg on the bench and one leg on the ground, Hugh says, “I’m sorry I freaked out last night. I had told myself I wasn’t going to get involved with anyone for a long time. It was fine while we were just talking, and I told myself it wasn’t serious that you were coming out here for a couple days, but then you were here, and…”

“And what?”

Hugh gestures vaguely at Paul. “You’re intense. Has anyone ever told you that?”

“Yes…” Paul says warily. “Usually it’s not a compliment.”

“I mean it as a compliment. I like how passionate you are about everything. But in a way, you - well, you reminded me of Kel. The way you talk about your work, and your life. How confident you were when we were talking on Alpha Centauri, that was… wow. And the way you were flirting with me last night. ”

“Too much?”

“No, just bringing up bad memories. And I had told myself I wasn’t going to get into anything serious.” That’s the second time Hugh has used that word, _serious_.

“Well, I wasn’t looking for anything either. Like I told you: haven’t dated in years, wasn’t interested at all, didn’t seem worth the trouble.”

“Until you met me?” Hugh slides a few inches closer and puts his hand on Paul’s knee.

His throat closes up a little at the touch. “Yes,” he says, looking down at Hugh’s hand on him, suddenly feeling shy. “I had to get to know you. Even if it was going to be complicated.”

“I could say the same,” Hugh almost whispers, and Paul looks up. His eyes are shining, he’s smiling, and the corners of his eyes are crinkling. It’s too beautiful.

And then he puts his hand on top of Paul’s.

Paul could drag this moment out a little longer - it’s so delicious. But since Hugh isn’t shying away from him anymore, the waiting feels intolerable. He closes the rest of the distance between them, sliding his hands up to hold Hugh’s face. Paul looks into those eyes, just a few inches from his, and it’s too much. He leans in and then their lips finally _finally_ touch.

Paul kisses Hugh gently, slowly, wanting to imbue every kiss with all the protectiveness he feels for this amazing man. But then Hugh grabs the back of Paul’s neck to pull him closer. And the way his lips just open under Paul’s, and the short breath he lets out when Paul deepens the kiss and runs his tongue along the edge of Hugh’s lips, is the closest thing to divinity Paul knows of.

A minute or two later, the approaching voices of a small group of kids, coming from the path behind Hugh, make Paul pull away.

“Wow,” Hugh says under his breath as they look at each other, both grinning. The kids walk by, chattering excitedly about something. “Why didn’t I do that sooner?”

Paul shrugs, raising his eyebrows. “You had your reasons. Worth the wait.”

“They don’t seem like good reasons now.” He’s looking over Paul’s shoulder at the retreating backs of the kids. After a moment he leans back in, wrapping one arm around Paul’s shoulders, grabbing the side of his neck with the other hand, and pulling him close. The intensity of this kiss threatens all of Paul’s composure, especially when Hugh makes an _intoxicating_ tiny sound of satisfaction.

He can’t get close enough to Hugh, not here. Even though he feels like he would do anything for more of this, he doesn’t like public displays of affection, let alone lust.

“Hugh,” Paul says quietly, pulling back just far enough to talk.

“Yes?” Hugh leans further in to keep kissing him. Hugh is running his fingers up the back of Paul’s neck into his hair and it’s getting hard to breathe with how much he wants all of this. And then he bites Paul’s lower lip, gently. And then Paul _moans_. In public. In broad daylight. This was certainly not how he thought this walk was going to go.

“I think we should take this indoors,” he manages to say.

“Agreed.” Between soft kisses that scramble Paul’s brain, Hugh continues, “I have a room. The bed - is very comfortable. And the walls seem pretty thick. So...”

“You have to stop kissing me. If we’re going to get there.” He doesn’t want Hugh to stop. But maybe fifteen minutes away is a room with a door and there, they will not have to stop.

Paul makes himself pull away and stand up. Hugh looks up at him, lips full, eyes glowing, face a little flushed. Paul extends his hand to Hugh to help him stand up. The entire walk back to the hotel, Hugh never lets go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I live for your comments!
> 
> Thanks to @lucyisalive for the beta read.


	5. (im)perfection

Paul wakes up in a dim and unfamiliar room, daylight shining through the gaps in the curtains to his left. He’s used to not knowing where he is at first, with work-related travel, so he stares up at the ceiling and blinks.

He’s naked. That’s not usual. He seems to also be lying on the left side of the bed, not sprawled out across the whole mattress. This bed is very comfortable - nicer than wherever he was most recently. Which was?

A hand touches his right shoulder. “Hey,” says the quiet voice of one Hugh Culber.

Paul lets the smile break over his face as he looks over to see Hugh gazing at him, with very soft satisfied eyes and a small hesitant smile. “Good morning, Hugh.”

“I thought you’d never wake up.”

“Did you miss me?”

“Yes,” Hugh whispers, sliding across the bed and wrapping his whole body around Paul’s as he leans in to kiss him. The skin contact is amazing. He’d forgotten what it’s like to wake up with someone. And he never wants to let Hugh go.

“I’m sorry,” he says, adjusting his arms so he can wrap them around Hugh. “I must have been tired for some reason.”

Hugh grins. “Well, I’m not sorry.”

Paul catches sight again of the sunlight peeking between the drapes. “What time is it? Don’t you have more of your conference today?”

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Hugh’s voice is joking but there’s an undertone of vulnerability.

“No!” Paul says indignantly. “But — you came to this planet for a reason too.”

Hugh raises his eyebrows. “I came here for a couple of reasons.” He props himself up on his left arm to look at the clock behind Paul, partially obscured by last night’s takeout food containers. “Mmm, the first session of the day isn’t that important. That gives us a couple more hours.” He looks back at Paul with those big brown eyes and a sly smile. “Any ideas?”

 

Eventually, Hugh does leave for a couple of conference sessions. Paul goes back to his other hotel room and collects his things. He dumps everything in Hugh’s room and returns to the cafe below the hotel. He tries to get some work done, but today it really is impossible. He manages one message reply and then just ends up fidgeting and staring out the window. For once the fidgeting has nothing to do with anxiety. He’s high on oxytocin and success and hasn’t felt this content in years.

Straal has quite the timing, as he texts Paul a few minutes later, _How are things today? ;)_

_Good. Definitely good._

_High praise. Hugh must be a miracle worker._

_You could say that…_

_Is that innuendo? Well, now I’m going to_ have _to meet this guy._

_Maybe you will. Now leave me alone. Don’t you have work to do?_

_Yes, making up for your absence is keeping me and Charlie and Thessia extremely busy. You owe us, don’t forget._

And then he’s swept up in daydreams of a stunning doctor who, in just a couple hours now, will be back in his arms.

 

“… and then Doctor Phlox pulls the cloth off the top of the box and it’s a Denobulan horserat with an awful skin infection. He doses it with a hypospray. We could see the infection literally disappearing before our eyes.”

They’re in bed, the curtains and windows open just enough for fresh air and elaborate bird songs to pass through. Paul’s half-sitting up against the headboard, Hugh leaning back against his chest, lying between Paul’s legs. Paul has his arms wrapped around Hugh.

“He experiments on animals?!”

Hugh lets out a short laugh. “I had the same question. And I didn’t really get a good answer, but he says he came across the solution from working with humans with a similar infection. I don’t understand why you’d let the animal suffer longer if you have the cure, just for an exciting demonstration. Although he is the longest practicing doctor in Starfleet. People probably cut him more slack than they should.”

“How long?”

“He was in Starfleet before there was a Federation, I think. At least a hundred years.”

Paul tries to imagine a hundred years from now, or a hundred years in the past, but really all he can think about is how amazing it is to be here right now.

The silence stretches out for a while. The air is warm, the birdsong is gradually fading along with the sun. Hugh is warm and soft and his hair scratches Paul’s chin just slightly when he kisses the top of his head.

“Mmm, this is perfect,” Hugh says, squeezing Paul’s hands where they rest over his ribcage. “You’re perfect.”

Paul frowns. “Nobody’s perfect. Nothing’s perfect.”

“I’m _trying_ to give you a compliment.”

“Can you _try_ to give me a compliment that’s a little more realistic?” he says, annoyed.

“Oh, sorry, I forgot that you’re also incredibly rude. I guess you’re right.”

“I said a realistic compliment, not an insult.” He’s fishing a little now; he knows this.

Hugh snorts inadvertently and then laughs. “Fine. Paul, this is the most comfortable I’ve felt in a long time. You’re brilliant and wonderful. Thank you for this.”

Paul’s been surviving on sarcasm so long that these very genuine words render him temporarily speechless. They also awaken a tiny uncomfortable feeling that he tries to ignore. He tightens his arms around Hugh. “I can’t believe I’m going home tomorrow evening,” he grumbles. “When you’re here until the next morning.”

“Can you change your flight?”

“Straal would have a fit.”

“But _can_ you? I thought being a civilian researcher had its benefits,” Hugh teases him.

“I’ll be paying for this for months,” Paul complains, but somehow he’s still reaching for his padd to change his reservation and message Straal. Hugh clambers off Paul and sits beside him as he makes the arrangements.

And he sees Paul’s last messages with Straal. “He thinks I’m a miracle worker?” Paul tries to scroll down past that message but there aren’t enough messages that he can scroll down that far. “He wants to meet me. And you said maybe he will.”

Paul blushes. “You aren’t supposed to read my messages.”

“You didn’t exactly hide them from me. So how serious do you want us to be?”

Paul’s still high on oxytocin, but that small uncomfortable feeling is growing. What if things change when he leaves? What if this seemingly good thing is an emotional trap? Is he even prepared to be in a relationship again? It’s not like he was particularly good at relationships before. Even when things were good… He shakes his head. “I don’t know.”

“Now who’s being evasive?”

“Takes one to know one,” Paul quips. He sits up completely, setting down his padd on the bedside table, and swivels to sit cross-legged, facing Hugh. “I hope it’s clear that I like you a lot.”

“But…” Hugh’s face falls.

“I have no idea how to do this. I have a lab to run, I’m in the middle of what could be one of the greatest moments of my career, and here _you_ are. I’m not good at relationships.”

“Do you want a relationship with me?”

He blushes even harder. “I don’t know. Do you want a relationship with me?”

“Don’t change the subject. I asked you first.”

Paul stares at his hands, trying to rub a hole in his palm with his thumb.

“Hey. Tell me what you’re thinking,” Hugh prompts him gently, putting a hand on Paul’s foot. Paul finally looks up to see the nervous expression on the other man’s face.

“I - I’ve been more or less single for ten years. Most of my relationships before that ended because of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“All that passion for my work? I’m terrible at making time for anything else. I don’t mean to be absent. But I always am, eventually. I won’t be like _this_ when I go back home. I can’t be. I work all the time.” He feels his chest tighten at the familiar words that are coming next. “I don’t have time for - people.”

Hugh sighs and his eyes turn cold as he looks away. “If you really don’t think you want this, fine. But now I think you’re trying to run away from me. Is this the same guy who got my number and spent dozens of hours calling me over the past month? I don’t think you came all the way out here just to fuck me and leave. Feel free to prove me wrong, though.” He scoots over to the other side of the bed and gets up, heading into the bathroom and closing the door harder than necessary.

Paul is tempted to bang his head against the wall. _Why do I even open my mouth?_ He can’t fathom why he always preemptively fucks things up in dating. How could he say something like that to Hugh?

When Hugh emerges from the bathroom a minute later, Paul’s getting dressed.

“What are you doing?” Hugh asks, still completely naked, still very annoyed.

“I don’t know!” Paul exclaims, pulling on his shirt. “Probably fucking this up just like everything else.”

“I don’t know why you’re acting this way,” Hugh says tersely as he puts on a bathrobe. “Don’t walk out of here because I asked you a hard question.”

Paul’s still barefoot, and he can’t bring himself to put on his shoes and leave. He’d have to walk past Hugh and at that thought, his feet feel rooted to the floor.

“Do you want to see me again after this weekend or not?” Hugh snaps, folding his arms over his chest. “I don’t know if I can possibly ask a simpler question.”

The question takes all the wind out of Paul’s sails. He knows the answer to that. “Yes.” The embarrassment is setting in. This is all too reminiscent of mistakes he’s made in past relationships. The only difference being that Hugh doesn’t seem willing to let him walk out so easily.

“Do you still want to stay with me tonight?”

 _Fuck fuck fuck._ “Only if I haven’t ruined your night,” he sighs, and eyes Hugh warily.

“You’re a mess, Paul,” the other man says affectionately, though still with an edge to his voice. “At least I’m not the only one.”

Paul sits down heavily on the end of the bed. “Last night, you said you were afraid this was getting serious and that’s why you were pulling away. I was never thinking that far ahead. I just knew I had to see you. And now I don’t know how to not fuck this up.”

“You could really start by not shutting down or fleeing the first time you get uncomfortable.”

Paul sighs again. “I can… try?” This man has a disturbingly good read on him. “I guess we agree whatever this is… it’s some kind of serious.”

“Yes.”

“ _Fuck_.”

Hugh bursts out laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love comments, please tell me what you think!
> 
> Thanks to @lucyisalive and @tptigger for betaing!


	6. departures

The last day of the conference sees Hugh up early for the last sessions, and then they’ll have the afternoon and evening free. Again, Paul tries to work - yes, he is terrible at vacations. But again, he’s also terrible at concentrating. He’s still feeling guilty about his behavior last night. Was he really about to do that to Hugh? To _himself_? What if he can’t get his shit together? He’ll be just as bad at this relationship as all the rest.

But it _has_ been ten years, right? Maybe that’s a good thing.

Maybe he’s matured.

That thought makes him snort audibly, and out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone at the next table look up at him.

Needing _something_ better to do, Paul ends up reading several articles about the plants and fungi on Thalus Prime. Yonnas was right: there really isn’t much about fungi on this planet, not even any mentions of the death fingers the shopkeeper gave him.

And then he realizes that he’s never going to have time to actually study the death fingers. He’s building a mycelial network _transporter_ , for goodness sake. Not to mention, he won’t be home for another day and he didn’t even ask how long the mushrooms last. Plus, he’s got a new person to make time for. But he does know someone local who might be interested and who could make much better use of them…

He finds Yonnas’ contact information on the University of New Addis Ababa (UNAA) directory and sends him a message: _Hi, I got some mushrooms a couple days ago at the market. They’re called_ death fingers. _Are you familiar with them? Do you want them?_

 

“That wasn’t half bad,” Paul says as they leave the UNAA opera house that evening. “I can safely say that it was the best opera I’ve ever seen, actually. Not that it’s a long list.”

“I guess it wasn’t bad for a student show. But personally I think the version at the Kasseelian opera house in Tokyo is far better,” Hugh says teasingly.

“I wish you wouldn’t mention Kasseelian opera ever again.”

“How can you hate Kasseelian opera? You don’t even pay attention to it enough to tell one opera from the other.”

“And that’s _why_ I hate it. I _can’t_ tell one opera from another.”

Hugh takes Paul’s hand as they make their way toward the transporter hub. The opera-goers around them, a mix of students and older folks, are laughing and talking enthusiastically. The evening air is fresh and warm. Paul’s wearing his favorite blue shirt. Hugh’s hand in his is delightful.

With his right hand, Paul pulls out his padd and checks his messages - Yonnas has written back. _Paul! I’ve never heard of death fingers, but people have a lot more local names for things around here than you could imagine. Can you drop them off at my lab? I’ll be here late tonight, at least until 9 PM. Biology A109. Or put them in my mailbox, Biology A094, if I’m not around when you are, but I hope we can say hi again._

“Looks like I have an errand to run first,” Paul says, showing the message to Hugh.

“Don’t we have to go get them from the hotel?” Paul disengages his hand from Hugh’s to pull the paper bag out of his pants pocket. “Wait, you’ve been carrying those around the entire time?”

“I prefer never to be too far from a mushroom,” he says, only half-joking. Since tasting _Prototaxites stellaviatori_ , he does sometimes feel a little extra wistful when there are no fungi around… he can’t decide if this is psychological or biological, and if this effect is something Hugh should test him for.

Paul looks up a map of the university on his padd and they set off through the dimming campus. Huge red leafy trees line the stone-paved walkway. Owl-like hoots are starting to echo off the buildings. The atmosphere feels electric with all the emotions Paul has bouncing around his head and his heart. He reaches for Hugh’s hand and weaves their fingers together, squeezing.

“What a beautiful night,” Hugh says after a minute, looking up at the redness of the moon and then over at Paul. When he and Paul make eye contact, he suddenly looks down at his feet. “I wish we didn’t have to go back to work just yet.”

“We have an entire nine hours before my flight,” Paul says. “Let’s not talk about it.”

Paul leads them silently through campus. Not many people are still on campus this late at night, but there are enough people around that it doesn’t feel deserted. Eventually they arrive at the Biology building: a giant mirrored dome surrounded by short squat trees with brown leaves.

“Not very practical,” Paul pronounces as they walk through the towering front doors, all glass, that slide open at their approach.

“I bet it’s very energy efficient. Cooling, probably,” Hugh counters.

It takes them a few minutes to determine the numbering/lettering system, but eventually they find that all the A doors are on the left side of the building, and it only takes a moment after that to find the entrance to Yonnas’ lab: a frosted glass door with lights inside brightly shining through.

“Do you want to come in with me?” Paul asks Hugh. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“I’ll wait outside, it’s okay.”

Inside, Paul finds Yonnas half-perched on a stool, crouched over a microscope at a counter on Paul’s right.

“I brought your next research project,” Paul announces.

Yonnas looks up, already grinning. “Paul! Glad you could make it.” He looks to Paul’s left. “Where’s your man?”

Paul tries not to look surprised or affronted, but he can feel his eyebrows pulling up anyway. _I said nothing to him! Nothing! How does he know?_ “Who says I have a man?”

“Lucky guess,” Yonnas says. “Thanks for confirming.”

Paul wonders if Hugh can hear them as he hands Yonnas the little paper bag. “So you’ve seen these before?”

Yonnas pulls one of the death fingers out and examines it. “Yeah, yeah. The other common name is moldy bean. Either way, disgusting name for a fascinating fungus. It grows on a kind of stalk, and you pick it off, like a green bean. I’ve only seen pictures, though. It hasn’t been the right season yet since I arrived here. Tell me where you found it?”

Paul describes the shopkeeper and her booth.

“I’ll go see her sometime. I haven’t been out to the countryside much yet.” Yonnas puts the fungus back in the paper bag and sets it on the counter next to the microscope. “Seriously, though, Paul, where’s your man?”

Paul leans closer to Yonnas and lowers his voice. “Look, he’s standing right outside and he didn’t want to come in. He’s probably listening to you badger me about him _right now_.”

“Fantastic!” Yonnas exclaims, slightly more quietly. “I won’t keep you, but you _are_ going to tell me more when we meet in Europe.”

Paul rolls his eyes. He’s surrounded by scientists who are all taking an unhealthy amount of interest in his love life. He wonders if Straal and Yonnas are friends, exchanging gossip about him.

“Take care, Yonnas. Forward me your publications on this; I want to know what you find out.”

“For all we know, this could be the most boring mushroom on Thalus,” Yonnas says. “But yes, I'll keep you apprised.”

They shake hands and Paul slips back out into the hallway.

“He’s pretty nosy, isn’t he?” Hugh asks quietly as soon as the door shuts behind Paul.

“Apparently everyone likes knowing my business,” Paul grumbles. Of course Hugh had to be eavesdropping on that. He takes Hugh’s hand and leads the way back out of the building. Although mostly he’d prefer if people didn’t know a single thing about his personal life, it’s a bit comforting that everyone else can tell his entire life has been turned upside down (in a good way) in the past few days. It makes him feel a little less alone in his nervousness.

 

The spaceport is busy with early morning energy. It’s not even 6 AM, and Paul is barely awake. He’s probably going to sleep through his shuttle transfers, given how little sleep he’s gotten this entire trip. At least he and Hugh got coffee from the cafe before beaming up to the spaceport. It’s the only thing he can focus on.

Hugh walks him to the shuttle boarding gate. They sit quietly, drinking their coffee. Hugh has his right hand on Paul’s left knee, and he’s leaning up against Paul, at least as much as he can with the armrest between them.

“I’m really glad you stayed the extra night.” Hugh rubs Paul’s knee a little.

Paul laughs. “I tried to make it worth your while.” He gives Hugh a suggestive look over the top of his cup.

Hugh’s eyes are so warm and fond that Paul can’t look directly at them for long. “You’re going to call me when you get back?” he prods Paul.

“If not before,” Paul admits. “It’ll be a long trip. But I might sleep through it. No promises.” He puts his hand over Hugh’s and squeezes. The companionable silence resumes.

After a while, Hugh says, “I hope your transporter works. Maybe I could come visit you through it.”

“It’ll be a long time before we’re sending people through. If this works at all.”

“I believe in you. You’ll figure it out.”

Paul’s heart feels warm in his chest.

Eventually, the last boarding call comes and Paul gets to his feet, throwing his duffel bag over his shoulder.

Hugh throws his arms around Paul with surprising vigor. “Don’t be a stranger.”

Paul closes his eyes, trying to memorize the feel of this hug. “I told you. I’ll call you when I get back. And I’ll call you every time I can.” He squeezes Hugh a bit tighter to emphasize this.

“I’m holding you to that.” Hugh leans back just far enough to look at Paul for a moment before going in for a long, soft kiss.

Eventually Paul has to pull away. He brings his hands up to Hugh’s face and kisses him one last time. “I have to go.”

“Okay.” Hugh smiles sadly.

“Tell me when you can get some leave,” Paul says. “We’ll make it work.”

“Okay.” Hugh has grabbed Paul’s hand and is not letting go.

“I’m serious, I have to go.” Paul laughs, trying to walk toward the gate.

“I’m not ready. Unfortunately, you’re my favorite person on this entire planet,” Hugh says, voice a little unsteady, even as there’s humor in it.

“Why, thank you,” Paul says with as much sarcasm as he can muster, because this is getting entirely too emotional. “I’m not ready, either. But it’s happening.”

Hugh nods and finally lets Paul’s hand go. He leans in for one last quick kiss. “See you soon,” he whispers as their lips part.

Every extra second is making this harder to do. So Paul nods and turns back and walks through the gate. By the time he finds his seat on the shuttle, his heart is fighting between exhilaration at everything that’s happened, and already missing Hugh’s perfect face.

 _Nobody’s perfect. Nothing’s perfect_ , he hears his own voice echoing in his head. Somehow that pronouncement doesn’t seem true anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to @lucyisalive and @tptigger for beta reading!


	7. afterword

_ Later that day... _

Hugh stops in the Shenzhou’s mess hall for lunch. They’re finally underway after a few hours’ delay. It’s only four more hours to Penthara IV, where the Shenzhou is also dropping off some medical and science equipment.

His heart is so full. He can’t believe his luck. After Kel, he’d been too afraid of taking chances. Then Paul Stamets just appeared at that conference, like a stubborn sassy science angel sent to rebuild Hugh’s heart.

_ Okay, okay, settle down just a bit _ , he tells himself, although it’s basically impossible. At this stage of his life, even though he knows how unexpected life can be, he’d wondered if he would ever love ag _ — _

He nearly drops his food tray. He steadies suddenly sweaty hands on the tray, takes a deep breath, and makes his way to a table in the corner. 

Once seated, he tests the words out.  _ I love Paul _ .  _ I love Paul. I love you, Paul. _

Everything checks out. Feels right.

Excitement and fear race through him, and his heart starts to pound.  _ What if Paul doesn’t— _

“Are you all right, Commander?” He looks up to see a small and very poised woman of African descent, wearing a Starfleet uniform marking her as a lieutenant in tactical. “You looked… disconcerted.” Her words are inflected oddly.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant.”  _ Don’t spiral, don’t spiral, breathe, focus. _ “Would you like to join me?” 

She nods, after a moment, and sits down.

“I’m Lieutenant Commander Hugh Culber. Thank you for having me onboard.”

“Lieutenant Michael Burnham. I’m pleased that we can get you back to your post. How is the colony on Penthara IV faring?” she asks as she lifts a spoonful of soup to her mouth.

“I’ve been away for a few days, but I think it’s doing fine without me,” Hugh jokes.

Burnham raises an eyebrow, her face solemn. “What was the nature of your journey?”

“Medical conference on Thalus Prime, in New Addis Ababa. I’m a doctor.”

“You actually got to see some of the planet, then. I’m envious. The Afracana colony is of some interest to me.”

“I didn’t have much time for exploration,” Hugh says. “But my -” He suddenly realizes he needs a word to describe Paul and he has no word. They haven’t talked about it. “My sweetheart did a little research though, while I was at the conference.”

Burnham is studying her soup as she eats it. “My ancestors were involved in some of the struggles for rights for Africans on Earth. I imagine some of their descendents might be on Thalus Prime now. I also ended up far from home. I was mostly raised on Vulcan.”

He suddenly has a guess as to why her speech rhythms are so stiff and formal.

She continues, “I often wonder what my life might have been like if my adoptive parents had been human. Of course, there’s no changing the past.” Though her words are more or less devoid of emotion, the way she keeps her gaze firmly fixed on her soup speaks volumes.

“I hope you get a chance to spend some time there someday,” he says. “It seems like a beautiful place. Maybe even healing, if you feel disconnected from your roots.”

She looks up suddenly, her eyes wide. “I - well - yes.” She puts down her spoon. “You may be right about that, Doctor.”

“Please, call me Hugh.”

“You may call me Michael.” She wipes her mouth carefully with her napkin and folds it before setting it down beside her bowl. “Did your sweetheart come to visit you there?”

“He did. Well, we weren’t really sweethearts before we arrived. We were trying to figure that out.”

Michael smiles. “And did you?”

“I think so.” Hugh ponders this, and certainty spreads through him. He can’t help but grin. “No, we did. We’ll be seeing each other again.”

“It must be quite gratifying,” Michael says, and there’s a tinge of bitterness to her words. Hugh can only imagine, given the little she’s divulged, how disconnected she might feel from other humans. Or maybe even herself.

“I doubt it will be easy. We’re both very stubborn. And he lives on Deneva. But I think we might understand each other. I hadn’t thought I’d experience that ever again.” He lets himself focus on that feeling of security and companionship. It’s more wonderful than he can put into words.

“Understanding is a precious thing.” She flashes him another small smile, one that seems to be fighting between expressing her full emotions and not expressing them at all. “I too find it hard to come by. Even as someone trained in xenoanthropology.”

Before Hugh knows it, they’re deep into a passionate conversation about human understanding and communication. He’s spilling quite a few more details about his life to Michael than he’d anticipated, and she seems to be doing the same.

Between this unexpected connection with Michael and the memories of Paul still dancing around his brain, Hugh realizes that for the first time since leaving for Penthara IV, he’s glad to be out in space, far from Earth. He’s not running away from home anymore. He’s making new friends and connections, and he has work he enjoys.

And, out there on Deneva, or just a call away, now he has Paul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you think? I live for your comments and kudos! :)
> 
> Thank you so much to my beta readers, @lucyisalive and @tptigger, for their feedback and support though this epic journey! This is my longest published fic so far and the first fic totally about a ship - so many firsts. Looking forward to reading and writing more about the Discovery crew and the Star Trek universe.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love these characters so much!


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